Ugh! Not again.
On the dating circuit I go
round and round--
where I end up nobody knows.
This blows!
Does it show
that I find this to be
a waste of time--
a waste of time and
a waste of paper,
a waste of emotional energy?
I'm spent.

There is far more
to me, to life,
to all that I have been through
to put such words on paper
as do not exist.

Sometimes I feel as if I
do not exist
the way I know me.
The way it would appear
is that I am
whatever your world would have me be--
whimsical, wild, or free.

I bounce around from
absurdism to propriety
like an Alice doll,
all wound up
with a sign that says, "Eat Me,
Drink Me."

Drinking me would blow you up
like Christmas cookies with milk
so that you couldn't fit through
the eye of an allegorical roof.

Bonne fat chance
to dating me.